


our scars run deep (no matter how far i run i always come back to you)

by BadWolfGirl3



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, But that’s okay, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Getting Together, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Nygmobblepot, POV Alternating, Pining, Slow Burn, TW: Mentions of Child Abuse, TW: mentions of suicide and self harm, Unrequited Love, feeling each other’s pain au, i may have gone overboard, im so tired, this takes place over the entire show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26171560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolfGirl3/pseuds/BadWolfGirl3
Summary: “There is someone out there, somewhere, who will love you very much one day. They are your true love, your soulmate. The person who will understand you most in the world,” his mother used to tell him.Oswald never imagined it would go quite like this.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 6
Kudos: 107





	our scars run deep (no matter how far i run i always come back to you)

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I have never written a soulmate au before this. You’d think I would have; I love soulmate aus- especially the angsty ones. But... I don’t know. Back in my ffn.net days I mostly took requests, and I guess the soulmate thing never came up. Feeling each other’s pain is a great way to swim in the angst- and it’s pretty fitting for the show. Could I have ended this with a cute get together at Ed’s apartment? Absolutely, I was actually planning on it. Did I do this? No, I dragged it out over the entire show and this may be the longest one shot fanfic I’ve ever written. Do I regret it? Not really.
> 
> This got more chaotic as it went on. Grammar? Real sentences? Don’t know them. Canon continuity? Don’t know her either. And honestly it’s been a few months since I’ve seen the show so I’m pulling stuff mostly out of my ass and the few scenes I’ve got memorized. The Gotham wiki was seriously no help. So... let’s see how this goes!
> 
> TW (PLEASE READ!!!): This fic contains some self harm and child abuse. The scenes aren’t graphic, but it is pretty obvious what is going on and could be triggering to some people. If these are your triggers please skip this one, or you can skip the sections (the fic is split up into sections by POV, which are indicated by an ellipsis in the center of the page) they show up in- the self harm is in section three, starting with “things get really bad for his soulmate”. The child abuse is talked about mostly in the first and second sections, and the third too, but tidbits and mentions will pop up in others. I also wrote about the canon scene where Ed almost kills himself in season four- this starts with “they manage to stay away from each other”.
> 
> I love you all, please be safe and mindful of your mental health.

Oswald first learns about soulmates when he is ten years old.

It’s a cold night, one of the coldest all year. The heating in their small apartment had gotten cut off again a couple of days ago, so since then he and his mother have stayed as close together as possible, wearing as many warm clothes and blankets as they can to try and stave off the cold. Oswald doesn’t really mind, even though he can see his breath in the air when he breathes out; staying huddled up with his mother, as he is now, her body a warm solid presence at his side and her perfume all around him, has always helped him sleep better.

He’s almost asleep when there’s a sudden sharp crack of pain across his back, short and succinct and completely out of nowhere. His eyes fly open, filling with tears, and a pained cry flies out of his mouth. At his cries his mother immediately sits up, grasping his face with shaky hands. Her eyes are wide and worried.

“What is it, my little Cobblepot?” she asks. Her voice is sweet and worried, like when she’s trying to explain why she has to pick up more shifts at work, or why they have to be careful with how much food they eat, in case they run out. Oswald _hates_ it when he worries her.

There’s another crack across his back, then two more down his sides, and he doubles over, groaning. “It _hurts_ …”

Gertrud runs scrabbling fingers all over his body, trying to find the source of her son’s pain. Then she pauses a moment, realization filling her eyes, and she yanks up his sweater. She gasps; Oswald is covered in bruises and stark red marks, not bleeding but close- he would be, if the attack was a real one.

Oswald starts to cry, confused and in pain, hot tears streaking down his face. “What’s going on?”

Gertrud quickly gathers him up in a hug, gently rocking him back and forth. “Shh, shh, shh… don’t cry. Everything is going to be alright, don’t you worry…”

She pulls back and wipes his tears with her thumbs, then takes both of his hands and squeezes them tight. She looks him directly in the eyes. “There is someone out there, somewhere, who will love you very much one day. They are your true love, your _soulmate_. The person who will understand you most in the world.” She takes a deep breath, voice suddenly shaky. “And right now they’re in a lot of pain, and you can feel that because of the bond you share.”

Oswald sniffs, frowning. “Will they be okay?”

His mother sighs, brushing back his hair. She looks sad. Almost defeated. “Of course, my love. Because one day, when they’re older, they’ll have you to look after them, and to always make them smile.”

He nods slowly. “Was father your soulmate?”

Gertrud smiles, small and watery. “Yes, he was. We loved each other very much.”

She pulls him into another hug, humming softly in his ear. The phantom blows are starting to recede, leaving only a dull ache in their stead. Oswald wishes he could tell his person- whoever they are- that everything will be alright.

Getting an idea, he squeezes his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms. It’s nothing incredibly painful, only a dull sting, but hopefully it gets the message across. _I’m here. You’re not alone._

After a brief moment, he feels the phantom prick of fingernails pressing into his palms; his soulmate returning the gesture, quickly and succinctly. Oswald is flooded with instant relief and his eyes close, finally succumbing to sleep.

He doesn’t understand the beating, the utter sadness and sympathy in his mother’s eyes, for a very long time.

…

Ed’s always been fascinated with soulmates.

He first found out about them at school, when Ricky Johnson pulled Tracy Higgins’ hair on the playground and then started screaming because he felt it as he did it too (the two had been inseparable ever since). Ed has gone straight to the library after that (the librarian looked at him a little funny when he asked for those kinds of books- they were pretty hefty for a seven year old), determined to understand everything about the odd occasional pains across his knuckles or the random bruises he couldn’t remember getting showing up on his skin. He’d consumed as much material on the subject as he could, completely taken by the scientific side of the phenomenon, excited that there could be someone out there for him one day.

His parents aren’t soulmates. This, Ed knows, if only because of the way they treat each other. They don’t flinch after attacking the other as if they’d been hurt themselves, don’t hesitate to make every blow as painful as possible (they don’t hold back with him either, but that’s for a completely different reason). He often wonders what it would be like if they _had_ been soulmates. Or even if they ever had soulmates in the first place.

Whoever _Ed’s_ soulmate is, they always seem to be getting themselves into trouble.

The strange phantom pains come frequently, be it the sudden sensation of scraped knees, a punch to the jaw, or the weird feeling of an invisible person pulling on his hair. They can’t seem to go a day without injuring themselves.

Ed quickly comes to the conclusion that they must be bullied a lot. Based on the time and nature of the injuries, it would be hard for it to be anything but. It feels... wrong, that his soulmate is often in pain, because of bullies, no less, and he can’t do anything to help them. It’s also strangely reassuring; someone, somewhere, might actually understand him and love him one day. That small ray of hope is what keeps him going, when his classmates laugh at him and call him a freak, when his parents have too much to drink and his father gets the belt out. A little bit of light in an otherwise completely darkened world.

The bullying seems to come to a head one day. Edward is sitting outside, reading a book of riddles alone while his classmates run and play with each other. He’s just about to correctly answer another one (frog in a blender! That’s 20 for 20!) when a sharp pain blossoms across his jaw, knocking his head back.

He groans as another wave of pain breaks, this time across his entire back- he suspects his soulmate has just hit the ground. Anger swells in his gut as he realizes what must be going on: the bullies are at it again. There are more phantom blows, now to his stomach and sides. Ed cries out in pain, doubling over, but no one comes to his aid. He clenches his eyes shut and wishes as hard as he can for it to stop, both for his own sake and his soulmate’s.

And then, blessedly, it does.

There’s a burst of pain across his knuckles, red splotches appearing before his eyes. Ed smiles through the pain, pride spreading through his stomach like a warm drink on a cold day; his soulmate is fighting back.

Remembering the first time his father had gotten too drunk and too angry at him, Ed curls his hands into fists, digging his fingernails into his palms. Hopefully this gets the message across: _I’m proud of you. You did good._

There’s a quick response, a mirrored sting, and then nothing. Ed thinks that they’ll be okay.

…

Things get really bad for his soulmate when Oswald is in high school.

At this point he’s committed to referring to them as a “he” in his head (he’s known girls were pretty much off the table for him since he was thirteen)- it would be a pretty cruel joke for the universe to pair him up with a “she”, and although this world is horrible in a lot of ways, he doesn’t think it would screw him over quite like that. So “he” it is.

They’ve managed to come up with a kind of system, the only way they can really communicate with each other: if one gets hurt, the other squeezes their nails into their palms- both a reassurance and a question. Usually then there’s a response from the other with the same gesture. With the amount of times both of them have gotten hurt, it’s necessary. They live in worlds often controlled by pain- reassurance helps.

Lately, Oswald has been spending a lot of nights with his nails pressed into his skin, his stomach churning with worry.

He’s figured out that it most likely is a parent; he’d say bullies, like him, but the beatings really only happen at night, and they’re too regular- there’s no kind of pause in the attacks that would come after a teacher’s or parent’s interference. The bruises don’t usually show up in places that can’t be hidden by clothing, either. Whenever it happens, when he sees the horrible markings on his skin and feels someone shoving and invisible fist into his gut or ribs, he imagines himself finding his soulmates parents and giving them a slow and very painful death.

It gets worse as time goes on. There’s one night in Oswald’s senior year that is burned into his brain, when he’s woken up by sharp, quick stings at the tops of his thighs, deliberate red lines appearing before him, not deep enough to kill but stark and painful nonetheless. Oswald spends the night with his lip split open and blood running down his fingers, praying to a god he’s not even sure is there to _do something, anything, help him, damn it!_

Whoever thought that sharing pain between soulmates was a good idea is incredibly cruel. Oswald has never felt so helpless.

After that, he spends most of his days with his nails dug into his palms, whether his soulmate is in pain or not, a reminder that he’s there and that as soon as he can he’ll be there to help.

Because he’ll meet his soulmate one day if it kills him. And he’ll make everyone who hurt him _pay_.

…

The amount of trouble Ed’s soulmate gets into really only increases as they get older.

At this point, he’s changed his name, graduated university, and gotten a stable job in forensics at the GCPD. He has an apartment, a cheap little studio in the city, and he never has to go back to who he once was. With the exception of some mental stuff, he is finally starting his life.

His soulmate, however, seems determined to end theirs. Or something like that.

It really starts with a night where he’s still at the precinct, working late on some John Doe case and trying not to think about his dark apartment and lonely bed. He’s just about to call it a night when a sharp pain spreads quickly across his side, like someone had just hit him with something, _hard_.

He gasps and tenses up, slipping off his seat and bearing down as the beating gets worse; whatever his soulmate has gotten mixed up in, it isn’t good. His blood runs cold as the pain continues, the attack refusing to let up, because they could _die and Ed would never get to meet them and-_

His right leg _snaps_ and he cries out, clutching it desperately as he prays for the safety of his soulmate. _I’ve lost so much. Don’t let me lose this, please._

When it’s over, he digs his nails into his palms almost until they bleed, but he gets no response. He doesn’t get one until days later, and even then it’s weak and half-hearted.

For the next couple of weeks there’s a constant sharp pain in his leg, which eventually fades into a dull ache. Whatever happened after the attack must not have allowed for the injury to heal properly; his soulmate most likely has a limp now. After that it just seems like they never catch a break, and honestly it’s starting to look pretty bad. Ed gets used to the pain that comes with each of their steps, but he still wishes he could do something about it.

…

Oswald is a little too out of it to recognize the man standing outside the trailer he’s holed up in. That’s okay. He’s a little too preoccupied with dying to take names.

In his addled brain he feels a brief flash of remorse for dying on his soulmate like this before he ever got to meet him. He hopes he’ll forgive him for that.

If he registers the mirrored pain as he whacks the stranger with the shovel he’d found, or whatever it is he’s holding (is the world supposed to be spinning like that?), he forgets it soon after as the blood loss and fever finally turn the world to black.

…

Ed isn’t stupid. He _knows_ that Oswald Cobblepot, king of Gotham, is his soulmate.

He’s known for a while now, known since their first meeting, when he’d felt every step Oswald took around the precinct reverberate up his own leg.

He… doesn’t know how to feel. About him being his soulmate. Oswald Cobblepot is a criminal, the king of Gotham, a man who’s killed people in cold blood ( _you_ like _that_ , something hisses in his ear- _shut_ _up shut up shut up_ ). What would it be like- falling in love with him?

And then there’s… other things. Ed’s father didn’t care about much, didn’t believe in much, but if he were to get in a relationship with another man… well, Ed’s certainly glad he’d left that part of his past behind him.

Almost.

Before all this, he’d entertained the thought of it being Kristen Kringle for a while, taken by her beautiful eyes and flaming hair hair and sweet smile. After learning of Tom Dougherty’s disgusting treatment of her (and noting her distinct lack of a limp), he’d determined that wasn’t the case (it doesn’t stop him from going after her- he was lonely and in love and _his soulmate wasn’t there._ What else was he supposed to do?).

(It doesn’t stop him from killing her either, actually leaves him relieved when he registers there is no phantom sensation of hands closing around his own neck, but that’s further down the line)

It was... easier. To believe it was her.

Every time he thinks he’s left his past behind him, it just goes and throws itself back in his face.

So he stays quiet. Oswald clearly doesn’t know it’s him the first time they meet, and he’s really too out of it to realize much of anything the second time. And then they’re living together and he can never find the time or the courage to bring it up, because pretending that the connection they have doesn’t exist is easy. It is easier to imagine that his soulmate is a woman and that he’ll meet her and get a house with 2.5 kids and a dog than going through all the _muck_ in his head that had built up after living seventeen years under his father’s roof.

And then Oswald’s gone. Sent to Arkham. There are days Ed can’t even _move_ from the amount of pain that Oswald’s in; he can’t even imagine what they’re doing to him in there. The crescent moon marks in his palms may as well be permanent for how often he spends his time digging his nails into them, and Lee keeps giving him sympathetic looks she thinks he can’t see every time he seizes up because of what they’re doing to Oswald. To his _soulmate_.

It’s hell, but he keeps going, right until he digs himself a hole he can’t get out of, and now _he’s_ the one in Arkham.

Why did the universe throw them together if they were never going to work?

…

Oswald should have realized it sooner.

Edward Nygma is his _soulmate_. The one person in the world who is supposed to understand him and love him like no one else had. His other half.

How has he not seen it before?

And more importantly, why hasn’t Ed said anything?

He can still feel it. The squeeze of Butch’s hand around Ed’s throat as if it had been wrapped around his own, his heart dropping into his stomach as he realized just exactly what was going on. Edward Nygma is his _soulmate_ , has always been his soulmate, and Butch was _killing him oh God don’t-_

Ed coughs in the next room, bringing Oswald back. Right. He’s getting him some tea. For the pain in his throat that Oswald can still feel.

He brings it back and hands it to Ed, murmuring something about his mother as he sits down. He’s really not processing any of the words coming out of his mouth. Ed is telling him something about Butch and the city, but he doesn’t know what. He can’t focus on anything but the stark purple bruises on Ed’s throat and the dull ache radiating from his own.

_Ed is your_ soulmate, why didn’t you see, _why didn’t he_ say anything?

He almost died. If Oswald had hesitated for maybe even a second more, if he hadn’t broken himself out of his own head ( _oh God I can feel that that means that Ed is -he can’t be- oh God he’s dying what do I do- he’s my soulmate, Butch is killing him what do I do!?_ ) and refrained from taking action… he doesn’t want to think about it. He could have lost his _soulmate_.

_What does he do now?_

“I hope you know, Oswald,” Ed says, breaking him out of his thoughts. “I would do anything for you. You can always count on me.”

_What is Oswald supposed to do?_

He almost kisses him. Almost. Ed is a vision in the firelight, brown eyes glowing almost gold, and his heart is racing because he’s sitting _across from his soulmate_ , but-

But. Ed hasn’t said anything. He has to _know_ , right? There’s no way he doesn’t; even on the best of days Oswald’s leg still aches with almost every step he takes, so what does it mean that Ed hasn’t even brought it up?

Does he not _want_ Oswald as a soulmate? Could that be it?

Whatever the reason, it’s that hesitation that causes him to change directions at the last minute, wrapping his arms tightly around Ed’s shoulders, his fingers digging into the back of his borrowed robe. His whole body sings at the contact while at the same time his mind is screaming.

What’s so wrong with him that even his _soulmate_ doesn’t want him?

That night when he presses his nails into his palms, he gets no response.

…

There’s no way that the way Isabelle resembles Kristen almost down to every detail is a coincidence, is there?

Because she does. Look almost exactly like her. If she dyed her hair and wore glasses… they’d be the same person. Ed almost drops the bottle he’s holding, only fifty percent sure that what he’s seeing is even real.

She’s real. And smiling at him in a way Kristen never did, wide eyes kind and sparkling. She’s beautiful.

Maybe… maybe this is a second chance. The universe telling him that things could be different. In a world where soulmates improbably, impossibly exist, everything has to happen for a reason, right?

Oswald… Oswald is his soulmate. But Oswald hasn’t even _acknowledged_ their connection- and he has to know by now, doesn’t he? Why hasn’t he said anything? Their relationship hasn’t gone any further than friendship, and... maybe that’s a good thing.

Because Isabella… Isabella is perfect. Why isn’t _she_ his soulmate?

He can’t look in mirrors anymore because of how much his reflection screams at him that he’s making a mistake. Maybe that’s a sign too.

All of this can’t be a simple coincidence. There’s no way.

Is there?

…

Of _course_ Oswald had to kill her.

Edward Nygma is his. Where was that nobody when he spent all those nights awake, hoping that Ed’s pain would stop? Where was she when Ed was at his darkest? The two of them have been through more than she could ever _dream_ of; she doesn’t deserve him.

Every time he saw the two together his blood _boiled_. A red haze fell across his vision and his hands wouldn't stop shaking and all he can think is how he’d like to wrap both hands around that thin neck and squeeze until she stopped _breathing_. How much he’d like to see her blood stain his carpets. The urge to simply throttle her or stab her or shove her out a window got stronger every time he saw her, until it was all he could think about.

_That home wrecker had to die._

So he’d done it. That was that. But now Ed can barely _move_ with the amount of grief he’s shouldering, and Oswald can’t stop wishing for a way to kill someone twice. Even from the grave that woman is ruining his life.

Maybe Ed will come around, after all this. He can get over his grief and get out of that chair and they can finally have a conversation. About what they are to each other and everything can get back to _normal_. _Better_ than normal, even.

Yes; they can move past this.

…

It briefly occurs to Ed that he could be making the biggest mistake of his life.

It’s only a brief thought. It flits away as fast as it comes, and all Edward is left with is his all consuming, soul sucking _rage_.

The pier is cold and windy. Ed feels the burn of the ropes tied around Oswald’s wrists more viscerally than he has anything else in his life.

“This won’t be a crime of _passion_ or _self_ _preservation_ ,” Oswald pleads. “This will be the cold blooded murder of your _soulmate_ \- someone you love!”

“I. Don’t. Love you,” Ed spits out, gripping the gun tighter. “You lost your right to be my soulmate the _moment_ you killed her!”

_I did it because I love you,_ he’d said. _Because I’m your soulmate!_

“Well what was I supposed to do?!” Oswald shouts, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “Let my _soulmate_ , my other half, fall in love with _someone_ _else_? Is that what I should have done!?”

_“Yes!” Love is about sacrifice! It’s about putting someone else’s needs and happiness before your own!_

Even if that meant Oswald giving Ed up for good. If he’d truly loved him, soulmate or not, Oswald would have done it.

“You _need_ me, Edward Nygma! Just as I need you! You cannot have one without the other! That’s the whole point of-”

“You aren’t _getting_ the point! You can’t talk your way out of this, Oswald! I have wanted you to suffer, as I’ve suffered. _You_ killed her, so _you_ die.”

“I am the only one in the world who truly sees you as you are- who you can still become! Do you realize what it will do to you if you kill me? You will _never_ be the same, Ed. Ever. It will _break_ _you_.”

He’s crying now, and Ed can’t help but feel like maybe he is making a mistake. Maybe-

**_No! He should have been there for us and supported us no matter what-_ **

_The studies on soulmates show that the death of one’s other half can cause serious damage to-_

**_Lied to us, betrayed us, never even cared-_ **

“Ed, are you listening!?”

“I’m listening.”

Oswald sniffs, snot and tears running down his face. “Say something!”

_Soulmate- **liar** \- love- **traitor** \- soulmate- **selfish** \- no wait stop- what do I do Oswald Oswald help me I can’t I don’t what do I-_

“I loved her, Oswald.”

He’s really doing this.

“And you killed her.”

He will feel the bullet he fires next lodged in his stomach for the rest of his life.

…

His mother was wrong.

His soulmate never loved him.

…

No matter how many drugs he takes, how many times he scratches and claws at his stomach and digs his nails into his palms until the bleed, Ed can’t stop feeling the festering, all encompassing pain of the bullet that killed Oswald.

The only time it dulls, even for just a moment, is when he bites down on those capsules, the drugs rushing through his system, and he’s staring at a phantom image of his soulmate, muddy and wet from the river. That’s only when he gets even a modicum of relief. Any other time, the pain is all he can think about.

So he takes more drugs, kills some people, makes some riddles, anything to get rid of Oswald and hold onto him for a little bit longer at the same time. It’s agony. At some point he pulls himself together and becomes _The Riddler,_ and he gets rid of the drugs, and maybe starts to move on to bigger and better things. This Court of Owls business sounds like a riddle simply meant for him to solve.

But sometimes, when he’s not expecting it, his right leg will ache like Oswald is still walking around on it, or there will be some other pain that he can’t explain and he will _lose_ _it,_ pulling at his hair and biting his lip and squeezing his nails into his _goddamned palms because he is weak and he has always been weak and Oswald is the only one who can stop him from feeling this way._

No matter how much he thinks he’s pulled himself together, it happens every time. His soulmate was right; he _is_ broken.

…

Maybe interfering with the Court had been a mistake. He can recognize when a plan has gone too far, and now he’s stuck, without any idea where he is, or hope for escape (are these _birdcages_?).

But at least it got him Ed.

It’s almost a physical pain to see him again. He wonders if Ed can feel it in his own chest, the burning rage and sadness and desperation all rolled into one, growing bigger and more dangerous every day. Every word Ed hurls his way pricks his heart. His whole body is on _fire_.

He never wanted any of this. Never wanted to hurt Ed, or enter into any kind of war with him. All he wanted was his soulmate, by his side, like it was always _supposed_ to be. Is that too much to ask?

But he got scared, and angry, and acted when he wasn’t supposed to, and then didn’t act when he was. And now they can never go back. Edward Nygma will kill him, or he will kill Edward Nygma, and that will be the end of the story.

He flinches with every blow the guards deal Ed. And not just because he can feel them too. The sounds he makes before Oswald finally drifts into unconsciousness will haunt him forever.

…

They’re working together. It’s...unprecedented. But necessary.

It’s dark. They have to wait for their next meal in order for this to work, so they sit in silence, for the most part ignoring each other. It’s better than arguing or issuing death threats.

Ed’s almost nodding off when he feels it; the unmistakable sting of someone digging their nails into his palms.

“Stop it,” he growls, glaring at the space where Oswald would be if he could see him (why is it so dark in here?).

“For earlier,” Oswald says, by way of an explanation. He’s silent for a moment. “You know, I used to dream of the day I would get to meet you. I’d spend all my time thinking about it.”

“ _Stop it_ ,” Ed says louder, squeezing his eyes shut. _It would be so easy to give in,_ a voice hisses in his ear. _You know you want to…_

He _can’t_. He won’t.

“I’d stay up all night,” Oswald continues, “terrified that it was going to be the last night I’d know you were there. I’d _hate_ myself for not being there to-”

“ _Shut_ _up_!” Ed shouts, throwing himself against the bars that separate their cages. “That was a long time ago, Oswald! I’m different! _I don’t care how you feel_ , I’ve _never_ cared! We may share pain but I will _never_ love you, ever. Life isn’t a fairytale. _Grow_ _up_.”

_Liar,_ the voice hisses again. Ed ignores it.

“I have the scars, you know,” Oswald says quietly. Through the darkness Ed can see him lift up his palms, but he can’t make out the crescent moon marks that he _knows_ are there. The ones Ed has too.

Ed refuses to answer him. Suddenly exhausted, he slumps against the bars and falls into a fitful sleep. Oswald keeps his nails pressed into his palms the entire night.

…

Even though Oswald is very much aware his possessiveness is what got him into the whole mess in the first place, he is still of the mindset that if he can’t have Ed, then no one can.

This is really the reason he freezes him. He doesn’t tell Ed that, of course, because that’s a whole other can of worms to open (he’d certainly never hear the end of it, and Edward would just end up hating him _more_ ), but the point still stands. Ed is a reminder to himself, yes. That was true.

But he _is_ also his soulmate, and Oswald wants him with him, always.

After he freezes him, it’s impossible to stay warm. He doesn’t think he’d warm up if someone launched him into the goddamn sun.

…

They manage to stay away from each other for a while. After Ed is thawed out.

Oh of course he wants to completely destroy Oswald (again) when he’s finally gotten control of his limbs- but he can’t. Not with his brain damage.

(Frog in a blender, how did he not get that??)

So he moves on, makes some new friends (maybe something _more_ with Lee Thompkins- he’ll have to wait and see), tries to pull the pieces of his broken psyche back together.

It doesn’t work, of course.

His other half, the darker one, _Riddler_ , is determined to take control. Ed can’t look at any kind of reflective surface anymore, for fear of what might be staring back. Riddler could ruin all of it- his second (third?) chance, a new life, a life away from Oswald - _your_ _soulmate_ \- the man who was supposed to love him enough to want him to be happy whether or not it involved their relationship.

The one person who wasn’t supposed to lie to him and manipulate him and _hurt_ him.

Ed is spiraling all over again, except this time it’s so much worse.

He almost does it. Kill himself. He’s no stranger to it; he’d thought about it before, before Gotham, before Isabella, before _Oswald_. Back when all he knew was the taunts of his peers and the sting of his father’s belt. He hadn’t gone through with it. Those were the days when he thought his soulmate could fix everything.

It would be so _easy_ just to end it all here.

But he doesn’t do it. Because if this is his second (third?) chance, then maybe he should finally take it.

(At least, that’s what he tells himself. The night when he’d finally had enough and his soulmate- _Oswald_ \- had practically bitten a hole in their lip and dug gouges into their palms and he could almost feel their desperation over the bond they shared still rings in his head; what would it do to Oswald if he felt Ed die?

Exactly what it did to him, that’s what).

And then there’s Oswald, back in Arkham. And he fixes him, melds the broken pieces of himself back together like he’d always been meant to do it and they work together again.

It’s still… unprecedented. But maybe not as unpleasant.

…

Oswald is almost glad he was frozen in that block of ice, because when he’s finally thawed out it feels like he’s been hit by a truck. In the mouth (and, oddly enough, one spot on his thigh?). Which means very bad things for Ed.

_Fuck_.

They’ve been through so much together. Lies. Betrayal. Attempted murder. Ed doesn’t love him, doesn’t even consider Oswald his soulmate. This could be the one chance to give in to all the pain Ed has put him through and give up. Get his revenge on Sofia Falcone… and let Ed die.

(As if he even really has a choice)(no matter what happens between them, there is still the indisputable fact that Edward Nygma is his _soulmate_ and that Oswald will always, _always_ love him).

“You gave up your revenge for me?” Ed asks when he shows up at the pier, cold and tired with the gun shaking in his hand. He’s bloody and battered, eyes suspicious and wary, but he is so, so beautiful.

What else can Oswald say? That he loves Ed, has always loved Ed, that if anything were to happen to him he would burn the whole world down and never stop? How can he put into a few words the things he’s been thinking his entire life?

He settles for this: “Trust is so very hard to find in Gotham. But I trust you, Ed.”

He thinks that Edward understands what he’s trying to say.

…

Maybe it’s time Ed stopped fighting the inevitable.

If he’s really looking for a sign from the universe, maybe all the women he’s dated dying or _stabbing him in the gut_ is a pretty good indicator that he’s doing something wrong.

He’s spent all his time running, from Oswald, from his past, and he’d destroyed everything good in his life in the process. Fate rarely makes mistakes, it seems, and now that he’s here, bleeding and dying, he finally can see more clearly than he ever has in his life.

He’s been so stupid, he knows. Normally he prides himself on being the smartest man in the room, but this one is really all on him. He should have known.

He gets a small reigns of satisfaction when he turns around and stabs Lee right back, though. So at least there’s that.

There’s another twinge, as he collapses to the floor, this one of sadness. Remorse; he’s leaving Oswald. His soulmate will feel him die and there’s nothing he can do about it. And he knows from experience that it will leave a hole that can never be filled.

So, so stupid.

…

There’s something going on with Ed.

Oswald had left him alone, since he’d saved his life (and the insufferable Lee Thompkins’, remembering a different girl’s death). The fear of rejection and the weight of all they’d been through had kept him from reaching out, making contact. He’s just so _tired_ , tired of chasing after Ed only to have it thrown back in his face. Better to bury himself in his work instead, let Ed come to him in his own time, be it to kill him or to reconcile with him.

But there’s something wrong. There are odd pains all over his body, often appearing in the middle of the night. He almost constantly has a headache, his eyes burn with what must be exhaustion even though he often gets more than a full night’s rest. There’s one morning where he’s jolted with what feels like a thousand volts of electricity, the pain leaving him collapsed and convulsing on his desk, screaming in agony.

When he finds out about Haven, he’s never felt so confused.

_God, Ed, what have you done?_

Every instinct he has is screaming at him to find Ed and take him far away from here, keep him safe, but _he can’t do that because they have been abandoned_ and all they can do is wait and see if Gotham is going to be saved or burned to the ground. It’s hell.

Ed eventually shows up, and he looks so tired, sounds so broken, that Oswald could cry. They talk it out, as much as brandishing weapons and throwing out threats could be considered talking, Ed goes away for a bit (there are _hours_ where there is nothing but an _excruciating_ pain radiating from his whole skull, so bad that he almost passes out), he comes back and they talk some more, and then they’re working together again. Such is the life.

The nine months they spend working on the submarine together (well… working _together_ is probably a bit of a stretch) are the happiest Oswald has been in a long time.

…

_Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god._

The sounds of war raging outside the GCPD ring in his ears, but all Ed can focus on is Oswald and the burning pain in his right eye, and how it’s all his fault.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps, hands fluttering around Oswald helplessly. “I saw the grenade and I froze. I-”

“Shh!” Oswald cuts him off, waving his hands around his face. “It’s the least I could do.”

_Oh_.

All the weight of holding himself back for so long, all the walls and defenses he’d built up, the excuses he tells himself every day, collapse in an instant.

All that’s left is the pain in his eye, the worry gnawing at his stomach, and the raw, all consuming _love_ he feels for the man in front of him flowing throughout his entire being.

It’s always been there. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, deny the connection they’ve had since birth, he’s always loved Oswald Cobblepot. Foolishly, selfishly, possessively. A raging river he’d tried to keep back finally gushing forth.

He is so _tired_ of running. Maybe he deserves a rest.

Before he can even stop to think, register where they are and what could happen and how little time they actually have left, Ed is fisting his hands in Oswald’s suit and hauling him upwards, crashing their lips together in a fierce kiss.

Oswald gasps and grips Ed’s shoulder with his free hand, fingers digging in so deep that he can probably feel it himself, like he doesn’t want to let go. His mouth opens, hot and wet, and Ed groans deep in his throat, pulling him closer. This is so not the time or the place for this, the city is falling around them and Oswald needs serious medical attention, but Ed can’t bring himself to pull away.

How could he have denied himself this for so long?

The whole building shakes and they finally pull apart gasping for breath.

“I love you,” Ed rasps out, cupping Oswald’s face frantically in his hands, mindful of his eye. “And when this is over, because we _will_ survive this, you and I are going to have a long talk and work things out.”

“Okay,” Oswald pants, breathless. “I love you too.”

Ed kisses him again, quickly, then laces their fingers together. He’s never letting go again.

When he squeezes his nails into the palm of his free hand for the first time in years, Oswald smiles at him like he’d hung the stars.

…

Oswald finally has a life with his soulmate when he is in his late forties.

It has been a long bumpy ride, but it was all worth it. They’d worked it out, after the battle. It had taken time, but the six months before their arrests were probably the best in his life. They wrote countless letters to each other while they were locked up, falling in love with each word, and fell asleep each night to the sting of their nails buried in the skin of their palms.

They’ve both changed so much in the past ten years, Oswald knows. He is bigger, more rotund, his hair thinning and starting to grey at the temples. Crow's feet have formed at the corners of his eyes (probably from all the times they had been scrunched up in pain or anger, not joy). They haven’t seen each other in so long- what if Ed can’t stand the sight of him?

But then they’re together again, and Ed is as beautiful as he was ten years ago, and he’s looking at Oswald like _he’s_ beautiful, and any worries he might have had all fall away.

“ _Oswald_ ,” Ed whispers, soft and surprised and reverent. It’s all he needs to say.

Oswald can’t _not_ kiss him.

By the end of the night, they’ve fallen back into their old, familiar rhythm, bantering and kissing and touching among running and being captured and tied to a lamppost (a goddamn lamppost- and was that a _bat_?).

When they’re safe on the ground, Ed turns to Oswald, smile wide and eyes flashing. “Did you miss me, Mr. Penguin?”

Oswald grabs his hand and brushes a kiss across the back of it, never breaking eye contact. “More than you know, Riddler.”

Ed leans down and presses a kiss to his lips, humming contentedly. “Shall we go and take back what’s ours?”

“With you by my side?” He tangles their fingers together, squeezing tightly. “It would be my pleasure.”

As they walk away, planning their revenge, Oswald tightens his free hand into a fist, relishing in the familiar prick of his nails.

Without missing a beat, Ed returns the gesture.

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t say how many times I trashed and rewrote this damned thing and I’m still not happy with it. It’s like over 50 notebook pages long (but we’re talking composition size here) and half the time I just wanted to rip them all out and either start over or just abandon the whole thing completely. It took me soooo long, and I don’t know if I’m completely happy with it. But that’s okay. 
> 
> Let me know how I did. Should I write some more soulmate stuff? Is there anything you would like to see me write? I’m all ears. With school starting up, I hope those of you who are going back stay safe and wear masks. I love you all!


End file.
